Robert Burns

* * *

FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
  At which I most repine, love.

  O wert thou, love, but near me,
  But near, near, near me;
  How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
    And mingle sighs with mine, love!

Around me scowls a wintry sky,
That blasts each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
  Save in those arms of thine, love.

Cold alter’d friendship’s cruel part,
To poison fortune’s ruthlees dart-
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
  And say that fate is mine, love.

But dreary tho’ the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet
  Can on thy Chloris shine, love.